Вил Мирзаянов - State Secrets - An Insider's Chronicle of the Russian Chemical Weapons Program

Finally I was completely alone and nobody disturbed me from sorting out my feelings shaped by everything I had suffered through that day. It’s remarkable that I wasn’t sad there, in that stone sack. Difficult work awaited me, and I knew that the struggle against injustice would drain me of my strength. I started thinking about different options for my defense. Clearly I couldn’t consult with anybody in the jail, so I had to rely entirely on myself. I had already started my struggle by declaring a dry hunger strike. When the window in the door opened, and a head in a white cap suddenly popped in and said “dinner,” I politely refused.

I didn’t sleep at all, the first night in jail. All through the night, a bright electric light in the middle of the ceiling blazed out from behind iron bars. I had no watch, so I simply lost track of the time, which dragged on endlessly. When I heard the call sound of Radio Mayak from the loudspeaker, I understood that it was already 6 A.M. Almost immediately, I also heard a command from behind the door, “Get up!”

I spent the whole morning being photographed and “playing the piano.” This is what prisoners call the fingerprinting procedure. A lone guard performed this job for all of Lefortovo Prison. He worked under the diligent supervision of a portrait of “Iron Felix” Dzerzhinsky hanging above his desk.

Eventually, it was time for lunch, which I also refused. Soon after that a window in my door opened again and the command was given, “Get ready to exit!” I got ready immediately, but I only had my old lightweight overcoat, a ski cap, and the winter shoes I was wearing when I was brought there.

This time the jailer led me in a different direction. Along the way he was loudly and constantly snapping his fingers. Probably he was giving the signal that he had a prisoner with him.

Investigator Shkarin was waiting for me in the familiar office. He said that Nuria had called and asked him to tell me that everything was fine at home, and that she promised to do everything she could to help me. She also promised to settle the question of a lawyer. I felt relief at once when I saw my little Sultan in my mind’s eye.

Shkarin inquired politely about how I was doing. I thanked him for asking and replied that I was continuing with my dry hunger strike. The captain remarked that he didn’t recommend this because it was very dangerous at my age. For that reason, they would do everything to keep me from dying of hunger. Then he began his interrogation. I didn’t object, because I decided that under those severe circumstances, I could still do without a lawyer. I was curious to test myself in lone combat, especially since at some point during the previous night’s reflections, I had decided that it would be a battle of intellects, and I should not be afraid of dirty tricks. Maybe I was overly self-confident, but I felt already that the investigator had only a vague idea about the essence of my case. This particular interrogation was a pure formality, to confirm that the two manuscripts which Lev Fedorov gave to Chekists were mine. Shkarin also asked me whether I gave anyone else information about the topics of those manuscripts. [95] “Transcript of the Suspect’s Interrogation”, Investigation Department, Case 92 (Moscow: Ministry of Security of RF, 23 October 1992, Top Secret). See Annex 10.

I realized that the prosecution would work exclusively with my manuscripts in the future, so I couldn’t refer to the editor’s or other revisions or amendments. I didn’t care because I was certain that I didn’t give away any state secrets either in my manuscripts, or in the articles.

I read the transcript and was taken back to my cell accompanied by an escort. I was beginning get used to this. Although according to the law, the suspect can only be detained for 72 hours without being shown an accusation, they made an exception for me. The explanation was that weekends didn’t count. You might have thought at this time that I was at some spa or resort. A brilliant invention by our Chekists! I now had more than enough time, and I was still on a hunger strike.

Those were the days when the world’s super powers were poised to sign the Convention on the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons (CWC). In all clauses of the “resolution” that the investigator showed me, there was nothing serious enough to serve as a basis for the accusation, except for the clause about binary weapons. Did it make any sense to accuse me of allegedly disclosing the locations of the production and testing sites of chemical weapons? Foreign specialists and correspondents had been visiting Shikhany for a long time. The Nukus test site had become the property of the independent country of Uzbekistan. I knew that the operations of chemical weapons production had already been discontinued at the places Russia had declared. It’s true, that I had pointed out the places of production of the new weapons in my article, but I thought that under the political conditions that were taking shape then, that this couldn’t be considered a serious criminal offense. Therefore, it was only by a great stretch of the imagination that I could be accused of discussing a new chemical agent and binary weapons.

I spent the second night in my three-man cell in the same way, without any cellmates, and I didn’t sleep that night, either. When the radio started blaring and the head of the jailer appeared in the window and commanded “Get up!” I was already on my feet.

At some time later “the head” appeared again and asked, “Are you going to eat?” I answered that I wasn’t. “It’s up to you,” said the head and the window closed.

Around 10 o’clock I was taken to Shkarin again. He said that Nuria had called once more, and was asking him to tell me that the kids were alive and well and that she would hire a lawyer for me. “There is an uproar building in the press on your account,” added the Chekist.

I admit I felt my spirits lifting, but I asked no questions. After all, everyone who wished to could read my article and see that the KGB had fabricated the case. However, the captain hadn’t called me in there to discuss what the press wrote about. Shkarin handed me the arrest warrant (it turned out that I had only been detained before that) which was signed by First Deputy Attorney General, Ivan Zemlyanushin.

After all the formalities were completed, the captain pressed a button and an escort entered the room. We went back to my cell following the familiar route. After lunch, which I refused as usual, the door of the cell opened and I was given the command, “Get up! Take the quilt and the sheets and exit!” I understood that I was moving to another cell. I was taken to the second floor, and the escort stopped near cell number 81, opened the door, and told me to enter the cell.

Two young men were standing there. They pointed to an empty bed and I put my things there. One of the inmates said at once, “You are, of course, Vil Mirzayanov. I figured it out. They said on the radio that you were arrested for high treason. I guessed that you would end up here at Lefortovo.” The name of this young man was Aleksander Yavitsky. He had been in Lefortovo for more than a year, on charges of illegal foreign currency operations. I immediately recalled a recent television report from Lefortovo Prison. A correspondent was interviewing Yavitsky, who was saying that conditions in the jail were actually quite good. I remember that when Yavitsky was asked how he managed to end up in such “comfortable” conditions, he answered in the same tone as the reporter: “I had to deserve it.” Could I have supposed then that I would manage to find myself in the same KGB jail cell with the hero of a TV report?